


postscript

by omusubi



Category: Haikyuu!!
Genre: Alternate Universe - Fantasy, Angst and Hurt/Comfort, Grief/Mourning, M/M, Open Ending, but not that fantasy, due to minor character death
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-07-28
Updated: 2020-07-28
Packaged: 2021-03-05 22:20:15
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 9,490
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25552690
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/omusubi/pseuds/omusubi
Summary: Sakusa never believed that he could revive the dead with a sculpture he poured his soul to. That’s not how art works. They’re just a reminder that grandeur once existed. Even maybe to beg the world to not destroy them. However, the moment humankind was held in higher regard than other creatures, miracles have declined.Akaashi believed that the existence of living beings is nothing but an afterthought. That is why everyone seeks to be honored. Record scratch. It’s actually just everyone’s intense emotional craving to be seen. That’s how art works. They drive anyone to feel like they’re an epoch-making. Until heaven decides they are not anymore.
Relationships: Akaashi Keiji/Sakusa Kiyoomi
Comments: 6
Kudos: 54





	postscript

**Author's Note:**

> The sculptor and writer SakuAka AU in which one craves to be remembered as much as the other desires to be forgotten.

For souls who have been lost for quite some time, even sweet nothings can be everything. Abandoned places can turn to paradise. Smoke signals can become a beacon of hope. Forgotten memories can be replaced by new magnificent ones. Risky decisions with the heart outweigh careful deliberations with the mind.

AT PRECISELY 12:01 AM on December 5, his whole fate set foot into the cosmic void of abandonment. With a pinch of chaos being an understatement.

There wasn’t a warning fire or a sign to take a gulp of air before drowning. It all happened so fast that Keiji Akaashi couldn’t even believe his own eyes. And eyes were what? The windows to the soul. The mirror of emotions. 

The ones he had were irises of ocean blue that took everything from him away. 

Like it wasn’t enough to make his own family forget him. Every indication that he existed from their lives slowly disappeared. He first shouted at his Mom—an action he despised—and it was along the lines of -“ _Are you kidding me?! This is not a funny prank! It's even my 18th birthday today! How could you forget your own son_ -” And when his Dad took his shoulders and pleaded with him to stop, eyes staring sternly and directly, the same thing happened. 

The birthday cake turned into a snack. The photos with him began to fade. His existence and presence made his parents scream. A stranger was inside their home; _he_ was inside their home. All their memories of him were wiped off. 

His own blood had forgotten him. He wasn’t their son, they said. They didn’t even have a son, they cried. Seemed like even one’s own blood would never be enough.

Seven years later, Akaashi didn’t know how, but he managed to live alone. Between those, he treated this case as something mythical. Made it a challenge and tried to find the loopholes—managed to learn that as long as he didn’t stare at people’s eyes for three long seconds, they wouldn’t forget him. Comforted himself that it’s what he wished for. To be forgotten in just a snap. It’s not like everyone never once wished to vanish for a while. 

Akaashi pretended like his life didn’t change. Although, the sunglasses that always covered his eyes could say the opposite. Everything definitely changed. 

_When people forget your existence when you stare at their eyes, the only choice you have is to promptly leave or choose pain and inevitably fade from their lives without a trace._

That’s when his fascination with mountains, castles, and shrines grew. Everything that can be never forgotten as long as they stood tall was lucky. Mountains would be climbed endlessly and reaching the top would be always a different experience. Castles lived their histories and legends spoken by people. Shrines remain holy and dedicated to deities. 

This is why he turned to writing. Words would always stay and published romance books put one’s name out there. 

But there’s nothing more to it. Akaashi couldn’t believe he envied these man-made creations—with his desire to be yearned. For his smile, voice, hands to be remembered. . . or even the mere reminder that he’s alive—and if he’s fortunate, become an afterthought.

━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━

TO WHOM IT MAY CONCERN,

I KNOW YOU ARE ON HIATUS FOR A YEAR ALREADY, BUT YOUR WRITING HAS ALWAYS INSPIRED ME. YOU ARE NOT A WELL-KNOWN WRITER, YET I’M IN DEEP ADMIRATION OF EVERY WORK YOU HAVE DONE. 

THIS IS WHY I WANT TO HIRE YOU TO WRITE FOR ME AND MAKE DESCRIPTIONS THE WAY YOU USED TO. I WOULD LOVE TO TELL YOU A LITTLE MORE ABOUT THIS AND LEARN A FEW THINGS ABOUT YOU AS WELL. I'M REACHING OUT TO SEE IF YOU ARE CURRENTLY TAKING WRITING COMMISSIONS. 

PLEASE LET ME KNOW IF YOU ARE INTERESTED. THANK YOU.

SINCERELY,

SAKUSA

P.S. OTHERS MAY HAVE TOLD YOU THAT YOU SHOULD USE FLOWERY WORDS TO ATTRACT MORE READERS, BUT THAT OBVIOUSLY DIDN’T WORK OUT. MAYBE THIS IS WHY YOUR LAST BOOK DIDN’T SOUND LIKE YOU AT ALL. I DIDN’T EVEN FINISH IT, IT WAS TOO POETIC FOR MY TASTE.

P.P.S. ATTACHED IS THE INITIAL DOWN PAYMENT AMOUNT AND IF IT’S NOT YET ENOUGH, WE CAN DISCUSS IT. 

━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━

Akaashi wanted to commit murder as soon as he read the handwritten letter, but he didn’t have the energy for that. Still, he kept reading the letter again and again like his life depended on it. He couldn’t believe he was in a frenzy just because someone _remembered_ him. He felt his heart thudding in his chest that he even thought it would burst at any moment.

_Someone liked my writing? Enough to remember me?_

No, the sender of the letter—Sakusa—clearly said his writing was bad. He kept saying he liked his style, but also kept bad-mouthing it. 

Akaashi knew that all too well. The writing department subtly said it. His manager left him because of it. Now, a reader who had a love-hate relationship with his works also sent a letter and even described how awful it was.

He already stopped writing for a year. Maybe for forever. 

This was the first time he had the energy to open the box of letters that his old boss sent to his address a week ago before they broke _all_ contact—and partly was his eyes’ fault. He didn’t want to pay the large amount of fees for breaking the contract. His most recent books never sold well, so he didn’t want to exhaust himself and write anymore. 

Expressing emotions through words was Akaashi’s greatest adversary. He gave it a shot, but it only worked once. It was just shuffling words together into a pile and pretending they made sense. Love never even makes sense. It’s all just make-believe. But why was it so difficult? 

Now, he only had this Sakusa, his reader, who wrote him a letter who was asking if he had a commission for his poor writing. Damn. The money inside the envelope was enough for his necessities for three months. Akaashi’s not going to lie. He needed this commission. Badly. 

When Akaashi looked at the date when it was sent, it was just two weeks ago. So he guessed that the invitation was not that far off its expiration date. He thought it’s a good thing there’s also a return address on the envelope.

━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━

_Dear Sakusa,_

_I would gladly ignore your backhanded compliments even though anyone can perceive them easily as insults. I will accept this if you can just tell me what you want me to write about._

_Let’s just leave it at that. Please don’t say ‘sorry’ if you don’t mean it._

_Sincerely,_

_Akaashi_

_P.S. It’s not like I’ve hidden my name on my books. No need for the ‘to whom it may concern’. Also, I hated my last book too. Glad we agree on something._

_P.P.S. We can discuss the payment only after you explained what the writing is about. Thank you._

━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━

DEAREST AKAASHI, 

I AM SO HAPPY THAT YOU RECEIVED MY LETTER. ALSO, I AM SORRY FOR THE BACKHANDED COMPLIMENTS. I DIDN’T MEAN TO SOUND LIKE THAT AS I AM SINCERE. THE ONE THAT WROTE MY LETTERS FOR ME IS MY COUSIN, SO NOT EVERYTHING WRITTEN THERE WAS FROM ME.

_(LOL THEY’RE ALL FROM HIM, I SWEAR. I’M JUST THE MIDDLEMAN. IF IT HELPS, HE ACTUALLY LOOKS SORRY RIGHT NOW. BTW, FORGIVE FOR THE “TO WHOM IT MAY CONCERN”, I ACTUALLY THOUGHT THAT’S HOW I SHOULD START A LETTER. - KOMORI, THE COUSIN WRITING)_

I NEED YOU AKAASHI—NO, DON’T WRITE THAT. PLEASE COME TO MY HOUSE. NO, THAT SOUNDS CREEPY. 

_(WHILE SAKUSA IS LOST IN HIS DEEP THOUGHTS, I THINK WHAT HE’S TRYING TO SAY IS YOU SHOULD COME BY TO HIS HOUSE. THIS WRITING THING ACTUALLY NEEDS YOU TO STAY BY HIS SIDE FOR LIKE 2-3 WEEKS, I THINK? ARE YOU UP FOR THAT?)_

IF YOU WOULD LIKE TO DISCUSS MORE, PLEASE CONTACT MY COUSIN.

_(YOU’LL SEE MY BUSINESS CARD INSIDE THE ENVELOPE. PLEASE CONTACT ME THERE, I’M BEGGING YOU. THESE HANDWRITTEN LETTERS ARE MAKING ME SO DAMN TIRED)_

SINCERELY,

SAKUSA _(AND KOMORI :D)_

P.S. HOPE YOU’LL ACCEPT IT _(ME TOO!!!)_

P.P.S. I AM RICH. DO NOT WORRY ABOUT ASKING FOR MORE AMOUNT. I WILL PAY ANY AMOUNT YOU’D LIKE. ( _LOL HE IS AND HE PROBABLY WILL, BUT I’LL BE WATCHING YOU)_

**━━━━━━━━━━━━━━** ━━━━

Akaashi slowly lost hope when he read the second paragraph of the letter. The commission needs him to be by the sender’s side? That’s a huge problem. He absolutely didn’t want to—no, wait, he couldn’t stay with anyone even if he wanted to. It’s too risky.

At first, it even shocked him that Sakusa had another person write his letters for him. Komori, his cousin, even shared his thoughts inside the parentheses. Akaashi couldn’t help but sigh in wonder and in confusion.

He unconsciously combed his fingers through his messy black hair before looking at the mirror in front of him. It was so long that it almost hit his elbows. 

That’s when Akaashi caught his own eyes and stared at them. 

_Three . . . Two . . . One . . ._

Nothing. 

As always, the curse never worked on himself.

He already chose unhappiness the moment he learned the cruelty of reality. It’s not like he could escape it just by staying inside these four walls. Taking his phone out, he didn’t think twice and just texted every question he had in mind.

Akaashi definitely needed the money—half of him was just craving for someone’s company.

[10:38 AM]

**Akaashi:** Mr. Komori, within the three weeks, could I ask for the setup? Like do I go home everyday? I should probably tell you that I don’t have my own car. Also, how many hours do I work? Is the food accounted for or do I need to bring my own? - Akaashi

**Komori:** _Hi Akaashi, just call me Komori! And don’t worry, there’s free accommodation and food. Just bring your clothes. Or we could buy you new clothes lol. As for your safety, I could guarantee it. You’ll work the whole morning to afternoon, but it actually depends on Sakusa._

**Akaashi:** Okay, I’ll send my terms and terms of service to your email from the business card you gave me. 

[10:45 AM]

**Komori:** _Seen it! Don’t worry, I’ll get it notarized._

**Akaashi:** Thank you, Komori. Can I start next week?

**Komori:** _Sure, thanks for accepting the commission! You’re a heaven-sent miracle! :)_

Akaashi didn’t reply because he didn’t know what to say next. All he’s sure of was he wasn’t a miracle sent by heaven.

━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━

As Akaashi set foot towards the address Komori sent him, the coldness of winter welcomed him. He decided to walk when the taxi driver said they couldn’t go further than the pinewood forest because the road was steep. His long hair kept causing his scarf to slide off, so he took one of his handkerchiefs to tie it up. He only did it because he knew he had extras inside his pocket and leather backpack. 

_I should’ve cut my hair first. Do I still have time to cut it? The time they said was 9 AM. At the moment, it’s just 8:30 AM._

_My choices are: A. I could find a barber shop first. → This is an unknown territory, so if I get lost, that would be bad; B. Buy a pair of scissors to cut my hair. → Last time that I did, it was a disaster; C. Calm down → I already asked them about this. They said it didn’t matter if my hair was long. They don't care. Don’t panic. Breathe._

Eventually, Akaashi chose option C and decided to resume walking until he saw some towering greens swaying back and forth which signalled that he was already close to his destination. 

After walking a few more blocks, the trees that he saw from afar are now standing sturdy in front of him like guards who are securing an entrance. A gentle cold breeze caressed his face as he moved forward. 

“Stop this! Please!”

The loud crashing noise after the shouts gave Akaashi a jolt. His eyes roamed around and stopped when he saw a long-haired person who abruptly kneeled down on the ground opposite a man who was surprised. Still, no one moved an inch.

“The . . . That’s -sumu . . .” 

Akaashi couldn’t hear as he’s kind of far away from them. He didn’t want to pry, but he also felt uncomfortable. It’s not everyday you see a person kneeling on the ground like he just lost something precious more than his life—and begging it to come back.

He had enough bad memories of people begging. It’s always awful for both parties. Yet, that’s not what bothered him. It was simply the man who fell to his knees. When the wind blew past them, his golden hair flew and displayed his features.

The idle fleeting thought that he was a "god" crossed Akaashi’s mind. A god in pain. What a déjà vu.

When Akaashi glanced at the ground, he saw bits and pieces of what looked like a concrete face sculpture. There was this chunk with large, hooded, and slightly drooping eyes still intact. They were dazzling even without life behind them. 

Even though Akaashi couldn’t catch the full front view of the man standing, he knew the broken sculpture looked exactly like him.

“That’s not him… He’s gone already, Omi. Please stop doing this. You’re just . . . You keep putting us through that pain all over again!” The man finally lowered down to pull up the other man’s shoulders, but it was a struggle. 

“He’s not gone! He’s here! I can’t see him, but he’s here,” the one kneeling cried. He even reached out his hands on the ground and kept moving.

Desperately. Lonely. Blindly. Like he wanted to find something he couldn’t see.

“Tsumu’s gone! Okay?! I can’t even look at my face in the mirror anymore. I can’t show my face to my parents because they’ll remember him! Let him go. Stop sculpting him over and over again. It won’t make him come back.”

Another man who had short, thick, and brown hair ran towards them and immediately bowed to the one standing. 

“I’m so sorry. I’m sorry! I didn’t know he called you again, Osamu!” 

Nod was all the other man, Osamu, did before patting the shoulder of the brown-haired man newly arrived. When Osamu was about to turn away to move to his car, Akaashi completely saw his eyes.

They were like an empty slate. Lifeless. Like his whole world crumbled before him and he’s doing his best to grip on something that doesn’t exist anymore. It’s terrifying because the eyes of the sculpture showed more life than the living being.

That whole scene was certainly what Akaashi didn’t want today; that fucking chipped away at his lifespan. On second thought, maybe he needed it to remind him that life was indeed unkind, unreasonable, and unjust.

━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━

Finally, Akaashi’s chilly journey has reached its end. He may have lost his way for a few minutes, but eventually found the landmark. The black tower. Unmemorable yet significant. 

A bright reflection greeted his eyes covered in a pair of sunglasses which made him blind for a few seconds. As he gave it a second look, he saw these tall twin glass houses beside the tower that were shimmering under the rays of the sun. They were placed alongside the tree branches as if the trees also grew them. 

What’s more majestic was how those branches embraced the roofs of the houses, hiding them away from the sun. In contrast, the natural light entering the glass panes gives life to the interior designs like the ladders, couches, frames, and even the statues standing proudly around. 

The whole scene was breathtaking as if it was a castle within the clouds. If heaven was true, it would bear semblance to this place. Akaashi finally caught his breath back and felt settled. He couldn’t believe the inside was more spectacular than the promise of the exterior. 

A man probably in his 50s, asked Akaashi his name before letting him in. He trusted him easily when he showed him his identification card. The old man led him to this huge house with glass panels. There’s nothing to see inside, but more sculptures. It was overwhelming and he didn’t know where to look. 

“Mr. Sakusa and Mr. Komori . . . ?” Akaashi couldn’t help but ask already.

_Was he one of them?_

“They actually just arrived. They’re waiting for you there,” then he pointed to the twin glass treehouse across them.

His eyes widened when he realized he needed to cross a hanging bridge almost 30 feet above the ground just to get to his clients.

“Is there another way to get _there_?”

“Um. None yet.”

“Why?”

“We . . . Uh, we don’t ask questions around here.”

_Damn it._

Akaashi knew he shouldn’t have bothered to ask when the answer was obvious. The bridge was the only one he could see in front of him. There was no chance he could fly. So he took a deep breath before stepping onto it and tried to cross it without falling down.

The shades weren’t helping him. They’re too dark and on top of that, moisture had formed from all his blinking and the cold breeze. He wanted to remove it, but he needed to make sure there’s no one around. When he’s already across the bridge, he chooses to remove them for a while and wipes them with the extra handkerchief from his pocket.

“Oh, he’s here! Akaashi’s here!” A loud voice announced that made him panic and put the sunglasses on. 

As he scanned the surrounding, his eyes landed not on the figure moving closer, but on the man farther, sitting on the ground and not looking uncomfortable at all. 

Empty eyes, lazily magnificent, and effortlessly breathtaking. His hair was tied in a messy braid and placed safely on his right shoulder.

Akaashi could write all the words in the world about the man for an hour and knew he could still unearth new things. The first new thing was . . . He thought that that man was also the “god” he saw kneeling on the ground earlier.

_A small world, after all._

“Hi, I’m Komori,” the other one appeared and blocked his vision that seemed stuck on the man.

If Akaashi was surprised, he tried his best not to let it show. He confirmed his assumption. Komori was the one who bowed and asked for forgiveness earlier. That being said, it meant Sakusa was the one who got down to his knees to take the pieces of the broken sculpture.

_Great. This was great._

_No, it’s not._

“U-Uh, hello, yes. Sorry if I was slightly late.” Akaashi twisted his lips in a small smile then slightly bowed to him and then did again to Sakusa’s direction before blurting out, “Hello.”

Sakusa didn’t move at all. He just kept staring blankly at the side. 

“Don’t worry about it!” Komori assured and then clapped Akaashi’s shoulder like they were close friends. "Oh, cool. You both have long hair and droopy eyes. You should form a club." 

“Oh? But wait. Is he mad at me or something?” he whispered, hesitant to ask but desperate to know.

_Did they see him earlier? Did they catch him watching their public scene?_

Komori blinked, his stance suddenly rigid. He looked at Akaashi like he’s the one who was _mad_ as the one wearing sunglasses indoors.

“He’s not.”

Yet Komori couldn’t blame him for not noticing.

“Then, why is he ignoring me?” 

“He, uh, he’s not entirely ignoring you . . . Kiyo-Sakusa just can’t see you. He’s visually impaired. I should’ve given you a heads up, huh? Don’t worry, it won’t affect your work.”

Akaashi, at the moment, didn’t care about work at all. 

“Oh.”

He just met a blind god whose golden curly hair might be longer than his.

━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━

It was the third day of his stay when Sakusa finally asked Akaashi to do his work. They just let him get comfortable first. He had his own room and true enough, they also gave him free food. It was strange at first, but Komori explained that Sakusa was still going through something and didn’t want to be disturbed. Akaashi had the slightest idea of what that was, so he didn’t ask and push it.

Akaashi also should’ve cherished those two days of free time. Now, they’re just working nonstop the whole day.

“How about animals?”

“No, done with those,” Sakusa quickly disagreed. Just like he did from the past ten suggestions of Akaashi.

They’re currently finding the next sculpture idea that Sakusa could do. It was added and written on the contract—which Akaashi didn’t think much of when he first read it. He just thought there’s already a list and they’d go straight to the descriptions.

“You really can’t sculpt . . . people?”

“No.”

“What about something in the environment?”

Sakusa paused and stroked his chin before replying, “No.”

Akaashi gritted his teeth and tried to exhale softly. It’s already evening and he wanted to stop thinking even for a second. Sakusa couldn’t see him, but Komori said his other senses worked better. He could easily sense someone’s emotions, he said. The problem was no one could ever sense Sakusa’s.

His eyes moved in sync, but looked vacant. They’re the only ones anyone would see as his face covered with a black face mask, while his hands were covered with black gloves. His blank eyes reminded Akaashi of the time he stared at people’s eyes and saw the annihilation of all their memories. 

There’s just something about Sakusa that screamed more devastating, Akaashi thought while hiding his eyes using a black sunglasses. Yet now with him knowing it wouldn’t work to someone who cannot see, he used the chance to not wear them.

His calm demeanor slipped for a moment. “I-I’m going to be hundred percent honest with you . . . I don’t have—” 

Sakusa cut him off, “You don’t have knowledge about sculptures, I know. I realized that four hours ago.”

_Oh, so he knew words other than ‘no’?_

So Sakusa’s aware of his lack of knowledge, but still kept asking Akaashi to think of ideas that could be his next masterpiece. Although he did make them—masterpieces. 

Akaashi found out two days ago that every sculpture and statue built around the treehouse was created by Sakusa. They were sculpted by his own hands. But most of them were done when he still had his sight. 

Komori dropped the bomb that Sakusa did try to sculpt new ones based on Akaashi’s words from his romance books or more like audiobooks for Sakusa— _which information Akaashi couldn’t believe_ —when he lost his sight, but it was difficult for him. Akaashi’s last book might haven’t helped at all because he changed the way he described people; using Sakusa’s words, they became more flowery. Komori said it could be the reason why Sakusa stopped sculpting bodies altogether. He had lost his vision and inspiration. 

The broken bust piece that Akaashi saw last time on the ground was probably one of the reasons. However, he didn’t dare to ask anything about it. It wasn’t any of his business.

“Then why me? I thought you just needed me to describe? Why am I part of the process of brainstorming ideas? Do you need me to call Komori? To help with this?” asked the disoriented and hungry Akaashi.

Sakusa threw his head back, laughing good-naturedly. Without a care in the world like he heard something so hilarious. But he didn’t. Akaashi was never funny and certainly not now.

“I’ll say yes to your next idea,” Sakusa promised.

“W-What?”

“I heard you scribbling a lot on your paper. Give me the most perfect proposal on there that you think I’ll do best.”

_He has a nice voice. He should speak a lot more._

Akaashi did scribble a lot. Although he was just making a rough, rough sketch of Sakusa’s side view. He wasn’t writing ideas—no, he did. Once. He did look up Sakusa’s name. His sculptures were all over on the Internet, so Akaashi found out he’s actually popular. His works were put up in well-known museums, his name was written on news articles, and he had fans on sites patiently waiting for his comeback. 

There’s also this one tragic article that might’ve explained what happened to his eyes. They said the famous Kiyoomi Sakusa had an accident, but Akaashi felt it wasn’t right for him to know that important matter about someone he’s with through an article.

“Akaashi?” This took him immediately back to reality.

“Oh, yes. You said anything?” 

“Anything to get me out of the slump. Anything’s fine as long as you believe I can do it.”

_How could he trust a stranger that much?_

Akaashi did not dare to breathe for a short time he’s thinking if this was a trick question or what. He unraveled three options to this: _A. He could just say the safest answer which was a body like his other works; B. Wait for him to find his own answer, but get delayed too much and may extend the three-week period; or C. Just say anything that comes up to mind._

“A bust… The one with the head up to the chest,” Akaashi answered finally, choosing the third option. The afterthought. The one he thought that could wreak the huge havoc. “I’ve never seen one around here.”

“That’s because I don’t do them.” Sakusa closed his eyes, his face ruined with pain.

_That’s a lie . . ._

They both sat two meters away from each other. Yet everything became suffocating with those six words. Behind Sakusa's certitude and steady willingness to be a mystery, Akaashi saw how he nursed his pain. And also saw how he mastered to bury it within.

“Please leave me alone for a while. Let’s resume this next time.”

_Hah. I should’ve gone with the safe answer._

━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━

Akaashi’s phone rang exactly at midnight and saw Bokuto’s name showed up on caller ID. He was racking his brains all the past hour to find possible designs for Sakusa, so he didn’t realize it’s already this late. A voice inside him was stopping him to answer the phone, but his hand already made the verdict.

“Hello, Bokuto?” he answered.

“Hi! I’m glad you’re still awake, Akaashi!” His voice was lively, too lively for Akaashi’s own good.

“Ah, I’m . . . trying to finish something.” He stared at his notebook with the sketches at the side. “Bokuto, is it okay if I put you on speaker?”

“Sure! That’s better so I won’t hurt your ears . . . Happy happy happy birthday, Akaashi!” he shouted and for a second, it felt like he’s beside him.

_Oh, was it my birthday already?_

Akaashi closed his eyes and breathed through the mouth, refusing the tears to fall. All he took was a shaky breath. 

“T-Thank you, Bokuto, for remembering.”

There’s a pause. No words were uttered. It’s like that one cursed moment that they always say happens before you pass away—the one you recall all of the memories you have together. The moments Akaashi had let himself believe that maybe . . . that maybe true love, like in those movies, would save him.

They never did.

“Bokuto?” he called.

“Sorry. I was just thinking I wish I could gaze at the stars with you again,” then a hollow laugh before he added, “you loved staring at them—”

_I did. I still do._

_My curse never worked on stars. I’ve always wondered if that could be the sign that it might never work on you. But I didn’t want to risk it. Deep down, I already knew the ending._

Akaashi cut him off as warm tears stung his cheeks, “We already made our promises, Bokuto. You can’t do this to me. Please.”

“Our promises . . . That I only get to talk to you once a year? That I don’t get to always know how you are. That I don’t know if you’re still doing what you love,” Bokuto said angrily but not with a harsh voice. It’s the hushed one, the one that conveyed ache. “Everything hurts.”

“I could’ve made it _not_ hurt,” Akaashi returned desperately. “But you chose this. You chose to remember.”

When Akaashi’s parents forgot about him, he went straight to his grandparents who were the one who took him in. They didn’t ask questions as they were living far away from the city. Their neighbor was the Bokuto family and essentially came into his life. 

Bokuto was the one who convinced Akaashi that he could hope. His delicate words made Akaashi crave devotion and familiarity that can last longer. In the end, Bokuto’s the first one he talked to about his eyes. It’s because he kept badgering him about his sunglasses—and he was also the first one who believed him when he told the truth. 

Akaashi tried his best to never look directly at his grandparents’ eyes, so they remembered him until they took their last breaths. Still he regretted those moments. He wished he would have seen their eyes. The crinkle when they smiled. The colors. The sparkle. And maybe even love.

That’s when Akaashi realized he could never stay with a person. He could never deprive them of the euphoria of looking into their loved one’s eyes. 

The curse was only his to bear.

Bokuto pulled a breath before speaking, “It’s not like I can choose to forget and leave you alone with all of our m-memories. That’s unfair. That’s more painful.”

“Bokuto, let’s not do this now, please?” 

“Okay, okay. Mayhaps later,” Bokuto replied. There’s a thread of amusement now in his voice, trying to lighten the mood.

Akaashi righted his head, opened his eyes and turned to the window to stare at the lights outside. The lights were mostly coming from the other treehouse. His room was directly across the one where Sakusa stayed. He also caught sight of the hanging bridge.

“A-Are . . . Are your kids already sleeping?” he asked, trying to keep his voice stable.

There was a sigh of love, one that’s a little too familiar to Akaashi before Bokuto replied, “Yep. It took running and jumping on the beds, but I got them to bed.”

_I wanted to run and jump on beds too at our own enormous dream house. I wanted to hear that chuckle vibrating against my skin. I wanted to have a family and kids with you too. I wanted to live with you and wake up beside you. I wanted to talk to you face-to-face. I wanted to stare at your golden eyes and have you remember me until the end of lifetime._

“That’s good,” was all Akaashi managed to say back.

*******

AT PRECISELY 8:03 PM waking up on a hospital bed, everything in his life exploded like a supernova—bright, bewitching, and catastrophic. 

There wasn’t any flash before Sakusa’s eyes as darkness consumed him. Flickering lights similar to million cameras that he despised were the only things he last saw before the world became entirely dark. As he became brighter than any extraterrestrial impact, the shadow of a lone dying star swallowed him. He heard the sirens calling, the gust of the wind, and the groan of a person in pain. Clearly. Loudly as if they’re the only sounds that mattered. And they were.

It wasn’t even enough that a simple line like _“Your eyes became visually impaired because of the impact and there were shards of_ -” could ruin him. They even added _“I’m sorry, we tried our best to save the person you’re with, but-”_ and just completely destroyed his life.

People around Sakusa were ultimately sorry. Felt sad, patted his shoulder like that could take the pain away. It never did. They talked about him much more. He couldn’t even see anyone, but he could feel their pity looks landing on him at the funeral. It made him hurl in disgust. It made him want to scream. What’s worse was he couldn’t even see the face of the person he loves for the last time. Not even a final glimpse. 

The time ticked Sakusa’s life away until he thought one day, _“Fuck. How does he even look?”_ That's when he stopped going out. He began sculpting the love of his life over and over again. It’s all based on his touch, so it was difficult at first. But he did it with his chisel, grooves, and creases. 

Sakusa kept his memory the only way he knew how. He breathed Atsumu back to life with hundreds of sculpted bust. Not every single one was successful. Still, he tried over and over again.

But that wasn’t true, was it? He could never breathe him back to life with his useless hands. Atsumu was never coming back. Even if he built him from the ground up and spent his whole lifetime, an art could never compare to the real one.

All he had was the small hanging bridge Atsumu always loved seeing. This new, almost untouched house that seemed too spacious and alone, but he stayed because they were supposed to live here. Together. Alive. 

_Your voice was supposed to echo around these glass treehouses you fell in love with the moment you saw them. Your bright hair was supposed to brighten up my mornings. I loathed waking up in the morning, but if it’s with you, I’d wake up hours early. And before bedtime, I’d whisper sweet nothings to your ear. You always pretended to hate it; you’ve always been a bad liar._

_My golden long locks were supposed to make you come back. Say you hate them. Say you hate me. Tell me that you loved my hair black and short like you always did. I did this because maybe . . . If you hated them too much, you’d get angry at me. Scream at me. Do everything so that you’d appear out in thin air and piss me off like you always did. Then, I’ll hide._

_I’ll run away and you’ll find me. Because you’ve always found me._

_You said you never fully understood me, yet you still fell in love with me. My love, you might’ve never been aware but I already fell for you when I realized there’s no way in hell I could ever understand you. Even so, I wanted to give it my best shot_ ; _I didn’t care if it took forever . . . How dare you take that away from me? No one could understand a cold body._

_“_ —is it okay if I put you on speaker?” The voice made Sakusa pause and reeled him back. The voice he listened to earlier for the past hours. That wasn’t enough to startle him, but it made him grip his hands tightly on the rope of the hanging bridge.

“Sure! That’s better so I won’t hurt your ears . . . Happy happy happy birthday, Akaashi!”

_Birthday?_

Even if Sakusa didn’t want to hear their voices, the hanging bridge was close to the window which made their voices echo around. He always stood here when he couldn’t sleep, so he’s used to it. So he stayed and silently heard every word Akaashi and the caller exchanged. 

He pretended they’re like the audiobooks he'd always listened to. At one point, his soul soared and recognized their voices. It sounded a lot like love that’s hoping against hope.

“Oh, shit!” This time, he was surprised by this sudden scream. Sakusa’s sure that it came from Akaashi. “The blind god’s standing on the hanging bridge! Alone!”

A tiny grin formed on Sakusa’s face as he heard his words.

_Blind god? That’s what he calls me? Not bad._

“Blind god? What? Hanging bridge? You’re losing me, Akaashi,” the voice from the call said.

_Based on their loud conversation, it sounds like Akaashi already did._

“I have to call you later. I-I need to go.”

Sakusa didn’t hear any voice after that. Seconds later, he already sensed Akaashi’s presence. He was trying not to make any noise. Maybe he’s trying to be thoughtful not to alarm or frighten him. Or he probably didn’t know what to do with a blind and strange person. 

“I know you’re there, don’t worry about me,” Sakusa eventually spoke, “I’m just enjoying the fresh air.”

“Y-You knew? I’m sorry if I made you uncomfortable.” There’s uncertainty in his voice. 

“Yeah, don’t worry about it. My cousin must’ve told you that my other senses were heightened when I lost my sight. It actually sounds foolish, but . . . It’s true and I’m used to it now.”

“You aren’t wearing a mask and gloves,” Akaashi noted.

Sakusa nodded and smiled. He even noticed that. “This is the only place I could abandon everything; the air doesn’t feel poisonous. It’s freeing. Want to come here?”

When Sakusa felt the suspended bridge shook, he knew Akaashi was trying to get closer to him. So he shut his eyes, his beautiful eyelashes at sight as the moon shone on his face. His long hair, still in a braid, freely flowing to the direction of the air.

Maybe it’s the wind that warned Sakusa. Or it’s how the cold air didn’t reach his face because Akaashi raised his hand toward his face. He certainly felt this motion and made him recoil slightly, so Akaashi’s cold hand unintentionally landed on his right cheek. Seconds later, they both didn’t retreat. No one moved even one bit.

“Why does your hand feel like that?” Sakusa whispered, his heart beating so fast he could feel it in his throat. He should’ve swatted his hand away, but he couldn’t push himself to.

“Like what?” 

He turned his body to Akaashi’s direction which made the hand release his cheek. 

“Like you don’t feel pity for me,” he murmured, also reaching out his bare hands to search for Akaashi’s face.

“It’s because I don’t.”

Sakusa didn’t even have to try hard because Akaashi guided the hands. Unconsciously, Sakusa bent his neck. And when he did, he touched his forehead to Akaashi’s, also realizing he’s taller than him, for a second.

That’s when he decided to confess, “I heard you and your friend. I’m sorry . . . And happy birthday.”

When they pulled away, they turned to face the direction where the cold air was gusting even through the tree branches. Both kept their eyes closed, welcoming the feeling of the wind.

“You should be sorry, Sakusa. I just sacrificed an important call just to check up on you.” Akaashi didn’t sound like he’s pissed or feeling regretful at all. Yet he chose to ignore the birthday greeting. That wasn’t something he wanted to be focused on.

He was just calm and letting this moment be. Their souls understood how it felt to share the night sky with someone and suffer the loss of their presence. The air comforted these two lost souls trying to find their way home. 

“S-Sakusa?” he called, afraid he stepped over the line.

“Kiyoomi. You can also call me Omi, if you want.”

Probably not.

“. . . Mine’s Keiji.”

_So we’re using our given names now._

“Omi,” Akaashi called his name this time with certainty. Yet he still gripped the rope in front of them so he wouldn’t slip accidentally.

“Yeah, Keiji?”

“Your hands seem calloused and sturdy.”

“Yours are warm.”

A pause. They both had a moment of hesitation. This was an unfamiliar territory and at the same time, it wasn’t. 

_Sometimes, everything becomes clearer the moment we close our eyes._

“How many years?” Akaashi queried without any explanation.

“Together for seven, lost him almost three years ago,” Sakusa answered. “You?”

“Six for both.”

“What? Both?”

“I already lost him the moment I fell in love; which I did right from the start.”

━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━

They said soulmates have the same hiding places; that’s how they’ve mostly found each other. But contrary to popular belief, perhaps it’s the place that actually put them together. It’s not about them being soulmates, it’s about finding someone in your sanctuary—slightly basking on the fact that they weren’t alone.

“This place looks deserted,” Akaashi observed as he once again enjoyed the view. They’re at the main house right now and across them were the treehouses. “Sorry, that came off wrong.”

“No, it actually is. It was abandoned for ten years or more when we—I bought it. It’s spacious, right? I really have no clue what to put in here.” 

_Spacious? More like empty. Deliberately left vacant and gloomy._

“How about a shelf for your awards and trophies? I’ve seen them inside a box outside.”

“You think I’m the type who likes putting up awards?”

A whole week had passed already. Their time together was shortened to mornings and afternoons as Sakusa started to sketch and work at night. Akaashi also got involved in saying if the sketches looked perfect or whatnot; which absolutely drove him out of his mind because he didn’t know what was Sakusa’s definition of perfection. 

Akaashi shook his head and uttered a soft, “No”. He took a step back in his mind when he perceived he was projecting. He obviously just stepped on a landmine and he couldn’t retreat back, so he just shrugged it off and replied, “If I was rich, I’d buy the biggest mansion. Or a castle.”

“Oh, I didn’t realize you’re that type—”

“Type of what? Flashy? Extravagant? Pretentious?”

“No, a starry-eyed,” Sakusa easily responded with a warm smile. Akaashi studied him quietly. He still felt intimidated by his presence even though he’s aware he couldn’t see him. Yet he also had this kind demeanor.

Akaashi’s cheeks warmed up and began running his mouth off, “You . . . are likely not wrong. I’ve always wished for a huge space for, uh, to run around and place big beds to jump on. And maybe a large hall with a roof that’s made of glass.”

“You must really like stargazing,” Sakusa recalled. He really heard Bokuto and Akaashi having their phone call last time. “You always added a scene like that in your romance books.”

That shouldn’t have surprised Akaashi as much as he did. His eyes widened so much at that remark it’s surprising they haven’t rolled on the floor. As he tried to concentrate and think about it, it was actually the truth. 

He made the stargazing his go-to _oh_ moment.

“They’re good, by the way,” Sakusa added when he didn’t sense any reaction. “Even the scenes where they dance under the moonlight. That’s when you turn up the body descriptions, so they’ve been a great help.”

Not exactly what Akaashi wrote them for. Those scenes were used to take the main characters’ relationship to the next level. It’s not like they never worked. But knowing his writing just influenced an incredible sculptor? Akaashi’s not saying he had done something right, but he’s somewhere along those lines.

━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━

Sakusa believed that if he imagined something hard enough, it could stay embedded in his brain as a memory. However, it never failed to keep leaving traces of the havoc they feel inside.

It was already nighttime and they’ve already decided to choose an unknown person as Sakusa’s model for the bust. So Akaashi had finished his work already—more or less. 

“Your hair looks longer and more curly now, Omi.”

“You think that happened just for three weeks?”

Within those three weeks, Akaashi got acquainted with him comfortably. He also learned that Sakusa was the one braiding his long hair. Figured. It’s not like he’d let anyone touch him. So it’s been not that out of character for him. He’s once again always wearing the black gloves and mask. Akaashi also learned to keep his distance from him—the one time he touched his cheeks and forehead was just that; a one time thing.

“I heard from Komori that you always tie your hair up with a handkerchief...” Sakusa shared, trailing off as if he didn’t want to assume too much.

“Well, yeah.” Akaashi dragged a hand through his hair, ruffling his messy tied-up locks. “I only know how to tie my hair like it’s a gift with a ribbon.”

“Y...You want me to braid yours now?”

Akaashi chuckled, but Sakusa didn’t budge. Something in the question made him smile. “Oh. Are you serious?”

He just shrugged. “Not a big deal.”

That’s how they ended up in a pose where Sakusa was sitting on the sofa and Akaashi on the floor in a tuck position. Sakusa began just running his fingers through his hair. It made Akaashi sigh inwardly and unconsciously leaned back into his touch. He felt simply relaxed like it’s exactly what he needed. 

A moment later, Sakusa winded his fingers and twisted portions of it into a braid. He spent like three minutes before finishing and tying the ends with a hair tie. Then he queried, “You know what they say about braids signifying victories on a battlefield?”

“Just heard about it. Never confirmed if it’s factual. And if it is, too bad I haven’t won anything yet,” Akaashi responded quietly.

“You sure?”

“Pretty sure.”

“I see. You need to fight first in order to win,” Sakusa muttered, letting go of his hair. “There, Keiji. It’s done.”

“Yes . . . Thank you, Omi.”

━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━

As time went by, the weeks already flew. It wasn’t like Akaashi was wishing his last day would be special. Part of him did, but he didn’t let it show. Not that anyone would see; not like Sakusa would sense disappointment. They haven’t even met the whole day. He was too busy doing the bust in his own treehouse, so no one could bother him.

Not even Akaashi—a stranger he was paying to stay here.

“Isn’t he going to say goodbye at all? I mean, it’s not like we became best friends. But can’t he just talk to me one last time?” Akaashi kept on rambling as he packed and folded his clothes to put in his backpack. “What do I even want? I already helped him. I’ve done my part and I earned my keep. That’s all! That’s—”

“Is that really all?”

He froze. Sakusa’s voice threw him off for a second. He never used a cane, so no one knew how he never ended up tripping or going to wrong rooms. Komori just thought that he memorized every corner of this place. And he’s possibly right.

“Stop sneaking up on me,” he complained to Sakusa.

“Sorry . . . By the way, I think it’s going to rain.”

“Huh? How’d you know?”

“I can sense it. But it’s not yet raining.” Sakusa’s lips lifted in a grin. “Can I take some of your time? Or are you busy?”

“I’m not busy,” Akaashi replied immediately, wondering if Sakusa forgot that he’d be gone tomorrow.

Sakusa led him to a new part of his house. It was like the place was just cleaned because Akaashi knew it was covered by a lot of vines and leaves the last time he saw it. Now, there’s a mini wooden bridge that’s stable parallel to the hanging one. Its painting looked faded and there were vines left wrapped around the railing.

“I think it’s safer than the hanging bridge. You can stare at the stars and moon here, safe and sound. The workers said it’s still strong and won’t break easily. As long as we don’t jump on it, I guess.”

Akaashi’s throat had gotten dry as he listened to him. There’s something about his words that were familiar. His voice was beginning to sound a lot like . . . Hope. It was terrifying and puzzling at the same time. 

When he noticed Sakusa was gripping the end of the railing and started to step on the wooden bridge, Akaashi was terrified. But he watched him. One step then another. He didn’t look like he’s struggling. He walked on there graciously. Until he tripped a little which made Akaashi move instinctively to his side. Not touching him and just watching his pace.

“Guess I should trip first to get you next to me,” Sakusa broke the silence as he stopped.

There’s a painful twinge in Akaashi’s chest. He couldn’t take this anymore.

“Omi,” was all he managed before swallowing painfully. “T-There’s no stars. No moon. You’re right, it’s obviously going to rain.”

Those were lies. The moon and stars, in fact, were lighting up the sky. Brighter than the times he had seen before. They’re all glinting and sparkling like they’re existing for people to throw their wishes at. A realm had always existed where wishing upon a star could either be a sham or real. Akaashi already had enough of that by now—he got numb and had enough of falling at the heaven’s vague feet.

“If you ever make a decision, will that be the final? Or you can still change your mind?” His voice was barely audible like he wasn’t even sure what the hell he’s asking.

“Huh?”

“Nothing. Let’s go back inside.”

━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━

Angels. Sakusa once believed they each have assigned rain-clouds. Whenever there’s a downpour, it’s just them crying as they felt sorry about the dire situation of a sun-scorched world. But, he never decided about light drizzles when the sun’s shining.

“Sunrise, huh?” A voice spoke not too far away from him; it was Akaashi. “It’s also drizzling. Take this umbrella.”

That pleasantly deep voice suddenly hit him, it was soft and resonant. His voice was laced with so much concern for someone who’s going away.

“Keiji.”

“Yeah?”

“I . . . I’ve made a lot of decisions, you know. From bad, good, worst, or better. Minor or major, it never occurred to me if the one I was making was the final one. I just thought that every decision I made at the present was something I needed. It may or may not be the one I have until the end, but it still guided me along the way.”

So he heard his question last night.

“Please take the umbrella, Omi,” was all Akaashi said.

Sakusa continued, “That’s how I met you, anyway. My invitation wasn’t impulsive. Not calculated either. It was just . . . that. A decision that I could regret in the future. But not now. Not yet. That’s why I want to spend this time with you.”

“What if I don’t?”

“There’s still next time,” Sakusa replied right away.

He arched an eyebrow as he shifted from foot to foot uncomfortably. “I’m not going to be here anymore.”

“You could always come back, Keiji.”

His breath hitched and he had to refocus his gaze on his face. “W-Would you want that?”

“Yes,” he answered honestly. 

“When is that?”

“When the two of us finally stopped escaping.”

“How do we even know?” Akaashi asked his next question without meeting his eyes. Even though Sakusa wouldn’t be able to know that.

Sakusa leaned closer to him, almost an inch away. Enough to make Akaashi forget how to breathe. Enough for him to pull back and cough.

“Did you close your eyes?”

“I . . . I didn’t.”

“Then, not yet,” Sakusa whispered, his voice laced with conviction. “There are moments that get clearer when we close our eyes. Soon. Goodbye for now.”

Akaashi untied the ribbon from his hair. “Can I tie . . . your hand? Wait. That sounded wrong.”

“What?” Sakusa laughed, but he was already offering his right hand. “Go ahead.”

“I’m just going to give you my favorite blue ribbon. I don't use it too much, but it's important to me. So, um, if I never heard from you, I’ll make this as my reason,” he explained, tying it on Sakusa’s wrist. “To come back here.”

The drizzles were just monotonous. Just like they should be. Something that would sting slightly. Quietly. Before pouring. No weather forecasts and no warnings. The one that set up the forethought of the storm that was coming—the afterthoughts.

━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━

“Hey hey, why did you call me? It’s not your birthday again, right? Or did I get your birthday wrong? No, I’m sure I didn’t. Are you okay? Is there an accident? Hello? Akaashi?!”

“No, I’m okay. It’s just . . . Bokuto, you said last time you know Braille.”

Those who are visually impaired read and write with Braille by touch where words are written on an embossed paper.

“Yeah, Akaashi, I studied it when you . . . when you kept on wishing to be blind back then.”

“O-Oh.”

There’s a pause.

“So why did you call?”

“I need your help.”

“You found someone.” He guessed right.

_Just like you did._

“Yes. I did.”

“Akaashi.”

“Koutarou.”

“K-Keiji, I want to ask you something,” he declared.

“What is it?”

“In a world where we loved each other, do you think it was beautiful?”

Akaashi smiled a little and nodded; then voiced out his answer, “We did. So, it was.”

Another short pause. No one’s sure on what to say next. It’s not like that was the first time they confessed they have loved each other. Maybe they still do. But their lives have grown separately since then. 

“And, um, about the Braille . . . There’s a specific print material for that. You could find them around easily now. Even on the Internet.”

“Thank you, Kou.”

“Anything for you. Talk to you next year, Keiji.”

“Next year…”

━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━

_Dearest Omi,_

_Have you ever wondered what it’s like to be an afterthought? I always thought about that. What you said about how you make your decisions, you know, thoughts always work like that. People think postscript is just forgotten or almost-there, but it’s just what gets lost between words. Or maybe it’s the occasional roundabout before we spoke the truth._

_The truth is it’s real. It’s present. It’s written at the ending part, not because it wasn’t necessary. Only because we know we need to stay until the very end._

_It’s the afterthought that gives us peace. So that way, we can say something momentous and still be hopeful someone out there is still listening._

_And as soon we realize that nothing probably makes sense, isn’t that the time we can just be whatever we want?_

⠠⠏.⠠⠎. ⠠⠊ ⠺⠁⠝⠞ ⠞⠕ ⠋⠊⠛⠓⠞ ⠞⠓⠊⠎ ⠞⠊⠍⠑.

⠠⠏.⠠⠏.⠠⠎. ⠠⠊ ⠉⠇⠕⠎⠑⠙ ⠍⠽ ⠑⠽⠑⠎ ⠁⠞ ⠎⠥⠝⠗⠊⠎⠑.

_Sincerely, Keiji_

━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━

A month after, Akaashi finally received a letter. It was inside a black envelope and he immediately knew it was from Sakusa. He expected a long handwritten one, but all he got was a whole paper with a printed date in the middle.

It was what they’ve talked about. If Sakusa wanted to meet Akaashi again, he’d send him a date and he promised he’d come running—not exactly the words Akaashi used. It’s more along the lines of “ _Sure, I’ll go if I’m not that busy_.” But they both knew that they both craved for each other’s presence.

Of course, Akaashi would go and meet him.

That’s why he was standing in front of their gate, ringing the doorbell.

That’s why he got too excited when he saw Kiyoomi Sakusa open it.

Akaashi’s eyes lifted on instinct to meet his blank but beautiful eyes.

_Three . . ._

Wait.

Too much staring.

Akaashi didn’t mind it. He stared at his godly eyes for a longtime back then, he didn’t mind doing it again and again.

_Two . . ._

Yet there’s something different about this. Most especially when Sakusa smiled at Akaashi before yelling, “Surprise!”

_One . . ._

Another one bites the dust.

Walls came crashing. Sakusa’s eyes were sparkling and alive. Too alive. He could focus on a person now. He’s standing alone. Komori wasn’t by his side. He opened the gate by himself. 

This meant . . . It meant he could see everything now. His eyes were like a magnet that pulled him to look.

And they ended up staring at each other. For three fucking seconds.

“Fuck,” Akaashi cursed out loud.

_Nonononono_.

No.

“Ah, wait, why was I going out again?” Sakusa whispered before looking at his hands full of a bust sculpture. “Oh? Oh.” He kept looking back back-and-forth from the sculpture to Akaashi. “This is yours, I assume. It looks exactly like you. Ah! But your hair is shorter, I guess . . . And your eyes, um, are opened.”

He handed the bust sculpture to Akaashi, slightly turning away, “Thank you for buying my work.” Then he went in and locked the gate.

_His work_. Sakusa didn’t know him now. So he’s just another work done.

The bust sculpture Akaashi was holding now definitely was him. For him. With the blue ribbon Akaashi personally gave Sakusa was now tied at the neck of the bust. 

He felt some carving on the back part of the head. 

Tears sprung from his eyes when he read the words engraved on it. The answer to his last handwritten letter.

**_THIS IS HOW I SEE PERFECTION_ **

**_P.S. Then let’s stargaze & dance under the stars_ **

**_P.P.S. I know_ **

AT PRECISELY 10 AM, one’s memories gradually faded into oblivion while the other got confined in ‘what-ifs’ and regrets that will haunt them for a lifetime.

**Author's Note:**

> The Braille part of Akaashi’s last letter:
> 
> P.S. I want to fight this time.  
> P.P.S. I closed my eyes at sunrise.
> 
> ty for reading till the end!!! ILY ;-;


End file.
